


pure

by INMH



Series: hc_bingo fanfiction fills 2020 [28]
Category: Rule of Rose (Video Game)
Genre: Bruises, Bullying, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Diana needs a new nightgown.
Relationships: Diana & Clara (Rule of Rose), Diana & Jennifer (Rule of Rose)
Series: hc_bingo fanfiction fills 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789369
Kudos: 18





	pure

“It’s too big.”  
  
Clara blinked back at Diana slowly, and did not speak.  
  
Diana was a vicious, roiling cauldron of rage and bitterness, and it was a terrible feat on her part to control it. “The _bruise_ ,” she spat, actually producing a bit of spittle that sprinkled across her bared leg. “It’s too big. It’ll show when I put my nightgown on tonight.”  
  
Clara continued staring, which was infuriating because Diana wasn’t entirely certain she had been heard- and there was little that tested her patience more than someone not listening to her when she spoke. It was a problem most commonly present in adults, or anyone older than Diana; the other Aristocrats, incidentally, never failed to listen to Diana when she spoke.  
  
It helped, perhaps, that she outranked all but one of them.  
  
Clara turned and went to one of the drawers, rustling around until she came back with a roll of bandages. Diana scooted a little further off the table so that Clara could have better access to her upper thigh.  
  
For a few minutes, there was silence.  
  
Diana glared at the top of Clara’s head for most of it. The older girl didn’t seem surprised when she finally looked up.  
  
_Well?_ Diana wanted to prod, still prickly and spitting sparks. _Anything to say, Clara?_  
  
_Any comments?_  
  
_Anything at all?_  
  
“We really ought to get you a longer nightgown, now that you’re older.”  
  
It came out more as a whisper, like Clara was talking to herself and not Diana. She didn’t even look her in the eye when she said it.  
  
“A longer nightgown,” Diana repeated in a low, flat voice.  
  
Clara met her eyes briefly, gaze wary, and then looked away again.  
  
The maelstrom of rage and malevolence in Diana’s heart threatened to break free: She imagined pulling over the cabinets, the desk, the basin, the sick table; she imagined the sound of smashing glass and bangs and thuds; she imagined screaming and raging and throwing things, using every awful, vulgar word she’d ever heard; she imagined throwing a fit on a scale that would make Clara and Hoffman and Martha and the other orphans’ jaws drop, their eyes widen in shock.  
  
_Diana doesn’t scream_ , they would think, backing away. _Diana doesn’t cry._  
  
_Diana is always calm, cool, and collected. She is always in control._  
  
_What is wrong with her?_  
  
But they wouldn’t ask.  
  
They never asked.  
  
And besides, _two_ people already knew damn well what was wrong, and neither of them were about to put a stop to it.  
  
Diana hopped off the table without another word, and put all of her strength into slamming the door behind her as she went.  
  
Hoffman’s voice echoed from the staircase: “Who in _blazes_ slammed that door?!”  
  
Diana went down the rear staircase.  
  
Now would be a bad time to run into Hoffman; she wasn’t sure she could control her mouth. Let Clara explain why the door slammed shut, if he wanted to know so damn badly.  
  
It was nearly bedtime, and most of the orphans were changing into their bedclothes. Diana was tempted to rip her dress and underclothes off right there in the dormitory and jam her nightgown over her head. Better even to just rip her dress off and go to bed in her slip, to avoid any other conversation before she can just go to sleep. Martha would find it terribly improper, but who cared what that old witch thought?  
  
Still… Diana felt dirty. On second thought, maybe it would be better to take it all off and let it all be scrubbed clean. She ripped her dress off and threw it into the laundry bin.  
  
_I dare anyone to say a word to me,_ Diana thought vengefully as she marched to the bathroom to change. _I dare Martha to complain about how **inappropriate** it is for me to not be fully dressed as I walk to the god-damned bathroom. _  
  
Maybe it was the privacy of the bathroom, maybe it was the fantasy of screaming at Martha, but Diana’s temper was somewhat improved after she got out of the toilet stall and started back towards the dormitory. She felt she had a little more control over herself now, that she could keep her mouth shut if Martha snapped at her, or if Hoffman decided to-  
  
Diana stopped mid-stride, shivering slightly.  
  
_He’s already called you in today._  
  
_He won’t do it again._  
  
She went to her bed. Meg was already in hers, and offered Diana a goodnight before rolling over. Eleanor was sitting on her bed, securing the lock on her bird cage, and said nothing. Wendy was probably up in the sickroom, Clara was probably checking in on her, and Diana wondered if she’d recommend that _Wendy_ get a longer nightgown in a few years when-  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Diana rolled her eyes, twisting her head and body as one to look at Jennifer, who’d snuck up behind her. “How did _what_ happen?”  
  
Jennifer blinked, and then pointed to Diana’s leg. “Your thigh.”  
  
The bruise wasn’t visible, but the bandage was.  
  
Instantly, Diana’s temper spiked again. But this time, she wasn’t dealing with someone bigger and stronger than her; she was dealing with someone much smaller and weaker and unwilling to fight back or complain.  
  
Diana was still holding her slip. She didn’t even think very hard before she did it: She just brought her hand up and slapped Jennifer across the face with it, the fabric making a relatively soft smacking sound when it connected with the younger girl’s cheek. She squeaked, panicked, and when her face was visible again Diana saw an expression of fear and alarm. She turned around and hurried off back to the filth room.  
  
The room was silent- more so than it had been before. Diana turned and looked at the other orphans, all of whom were conspicuously _not_ looking at her.  
  
Diana threw her slip into the laundry basket. Then she got into bed, drew the covers over her head, and pressed her face into her pillow.  
  
She was worried she would see Hoffman in her sleep, and that she would feel the same shame she always did when she dreamt of him.  
  
Instead, she saw Jennifer’s terrified face.  
  
The shame stayed the same, however.  
  
-End


End file.
